


Arches

by telspica (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Foot Fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/telspica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon just wants to do something nice for Sansa. How did a foot rub turn so indecent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompter over at ASOIAF Kink Meme.

Jon had whisked Sansa away from the Vale secretly, or as secretly as possible. Four men were killed while escaping, and all the horses had fallen into a river and drowned along the way when Littlefinger sent a troop of soldiers after them. It’s not exactly easy to escape the Vale.

They had been bumbling on their way North, which was _exactly_ what Stannis had demanded not to happen.

With only two other men left and few supplies, Jon had thought it was in their best interest to stick to the back roads. They could not outwalk men on horseback.

But now Jon wasn’t so sure that had been the best solution. Perhaps they should have stolen some horses, no matter how immoral or obvious to their pursuers it would have been, and made their way back to Winterfell as soon as possible.

Jon had walked sentry behind everyone else, but he could see Sansa, just a few feet in front of him, struggling to keep pace. They had tried to go as slow as possible, but she had begun to limp and her hair had gone to disarray. If Sansa weren’t already so beautiful, Jon would have said she did not look like a lady.

He’d never dare say that _out loud_ though. Not in front of Sansa at least.

“We should rest for awhile,” Jon shouted. When Sansa looked back at him, as if she were insulted, he added a weak excuse, “I’m a bit tired,”

The men nodded knowingly, and Jon dropped down beside a tree and stretched out his limbs.

Sansa looked around her, her brow creasing in worry. Jon could see that she wasn’t pleased with where they had stopped, but by now she must have realized this would be the majority of their trip. He had made it clear after they lost the horses that they could not afford to be seen in an inn. Jon thought, that after everything she had been through, she would at least accept that she might get dirty and sweaty along her way to freedom.

Of course, he did not exactly give her a choice in coming.

She still wouldn’t talk to him if she didn’t have to.

_“We’re here to rescue you,” he had said, grabbing hold of Sansa’s wrist and pulling her from bed. “It’s me, Jon. Your bastard brother,” he had said that with a laugh, if only to please his haughty half-sister. “I’m here to take you back to Winterfell,”_

But she did not believe him, and kept saying she was some girl called _Alayne Stone_ and that she was the bastard daughter of Littlefinger.

_Ridiculous._ Jon knew his own sister, even if she didn’t know herself.

“Is there not a better place?” Sansa asked quietly. “It’s so... _muddy!_ ”

With winter starting to embrace the Riverlands, Jon thought her lucky to be making most of her journey in the rain. By the time they reached the neck they’d have to find her better clothes or she might not make it in the North.

She wanted to go back to Winterfell, she had said that much. But only after Ghost had pushed his snout into her stomach like a loving, sweet dog back in room at the Vale.

Sansa liked Ghost far more than she ever liked Jon Snow.

Out of the corner of Jon’s eye, he saw a small rotten log leaning against a large stone. He nodded his head in that direction, discreetly, if only to give Sansa the benefit of claiming the discovery in front of the others. Jon knew her pride.

Sansa gingerly walked over, hiking her hem, and sat down as if it were a throne.

But when Aeber, a crude man with a wicked smile (but a good heart) sat down next to her and emptied out the soiled contents of his boots, Sansa’s face soured.

She stood.

And, to Jon’s surprise, grabbed hold of the edge of the log and began dragging it across the camp.

Everyone, including Ghost, watched in mild amusement as Sansa dragged the log through the clearing. She huffed, and it was obvious to everyone she probably regretted it halfway through. When she passed Jon, he thought to get up and help her, hoping that she might even _thank_ him for his help.

Instead, Sansa stopped once the log had been pressed against tree Jon was sitting under. She sat with as much pretense she could afford after the spectacle. It wasn’t much.

Aeber and the other man Yorwyn erupted into a fit of laughter. Jon knew Sansa well enough to contain his laugh into the sleeve of his shirt, but the first one she fired a scowl toward was him.

Well, this was going exactly as Jon had expected. This was why he told Stannis it wouldn’t actually matter _who_ went to retrieve Sansa; she’d reject them all. She’d scream. She’d hit. She’d fight.

At least, that’s what Jon had assumed. Other than begging not to go, she did follow beside Ghost with little push. It was only when Ghost went scouting, or when any of the men of her rescue party interacted with her, that she started to get difficult.

Ghost shifted on his paws and moved to sit down beside Sansa. He burrowed his snout into her lap, and she brushed his forehead.

_So unlike you,_ Jon wanted to shout. _You hardly let me do that._

Sansa leaned against the tree, and Jon could hear her groan as she stretched out her feet.

He suddenly got an idea that just _might_ get him in Sansa’s favor, and maybe would make the whole trip easier, especially if Ghost got the sudden notion to pursue prey.

“Do your feet hurt?” he asked.

Sansa gave him a look of offense. “A lady should never talk about her feet!”

“I can do something about that,” he said.

Sansa’s lip quivered. “Do you... do you have something from a Maester?”

“No,” Jon admitted. “But I can massage your feet. I know you’ve never walked so much in your life,”

Sansa shook her head furiously. “That isn’t proper!”

“I’m your brother,” he said. “There is nothing improper about a brother helping his sister,”

_‘My bastard brother,’_ he heard her whisper under her breath. But when Ghost looked up and then trotted away, she sighed.

“Well, I suppose,” she said, obviously missing Ghost’s company. Jon figured she must have been reminded of Lady, whom had been executed years ago. “But just my feet, and nowhere else...”

Jon wanted to say something about that, and Aeber did, but Yorwyn shushed him. Sansa leaned over and carefully pulled her shoes off her feet and laid them underneath her arches. Jon could see she did not bother with her stockings. Before she would let Jon sit down before her she leaned over, her hair obscuring her her face. He thought he heard her _sniff_ the air.

She flipped her brown hair back (why was it _brown?_ ) and nodded her head. Her feet, he supposed, were flowery enough for a bastard.

Some things never changed.

He started carefully rubbing the tips of her toes, separating each from the other and pushing at the spot above each toe. Sansa withdrew suddenly.

“Your hands are dirty,” she said. “And I can’t feel anything other than the leather of your gloves. It’s weird,”

Jon rolled his eyes, and pulled off the black gloves before returning to work.

As soon as he laid skin to stocking, however, Sansa let out a small gasp.

Jon ignored her, and when she shyly pulled back her foot, he kept a firm hold. She’d deal with his cold hands if that were it. He was going to do something _nice_ for Sansa, and she was going to enjoy it.

Jon began rub the soles of her foot, working out each kink he could find as he moved up her arch. Whenever Sansa grunted in pain, he worked at that spot until he heard her moan in pleasure.

She was very vocal, he found, and an easy woman to give a foot rub.

But soon, the moans turned from pain to pleasure and filled the air around camp. He heard Aeber say he’d be going to piss for a bit, and Yorwyn just left without another word.

Jon was alone with Sansa.

Sansa and her moans of pleasure.

It was _exactly_ where Jon had wanted to be an hour ago, with Sansa pleased at his every action... thankful he had taken her from the Vale. He had come to rescue her, not kidnap her.

Maybe now she’d believe it...

Maybe now-

Jon felt himself harden at one of Sansa’s more vocal groans. He gritted his teeth and shut away those very unbrotherly thoughts from his mind and moved onto the next foot.

The sudden grunt of pain from Sansa at the kinks in her other foot caused her to kick out and into Jon’s stomach. Jon felt the air knocked out of him. He looked up at Sansa and saw that her head was back, her eyes shut, and her lips pouted. She was even panting.

_Not very ladylike,_ he wanted to tease.

Jon tested the situation, rubbing Sansa’s foot gingerly. Her back arched, and she moaned in pleasure again.

He continued, and Sansa gradually became more and more relaxed in front of him. She began to lean further against the tree, and she lost a little bit of her composure. Her foot fell upon Jon, and he sucked in a breath.

But he didn’t remove Sansa’s foot from its position on his breeches.

Instead, he bucked his hips forward, using his hardness and his hand to give Sansa’s foot an entirely different massage... one he could more fully participate in.

He looked around, glad to see Aeber and Yorwyn still... indisposed, and focused back on Sansa’s face.

Her eyes were still closed. Her lips were parted in pleasure. She was beautiful, Jon realized.

And Jon... Jon...

“I’m done,” he said suddenly, turning around and walking away. “You should be ready for an afternoon of walking without any problems,”

He heard Sansa fumble with her shoes. She called out for him to _come back_ in a voice that was indignant  _and_ kind.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

“But I’ll be alone!”

“Ghost will keep you safe,” he replied, hoping that Ghost actually was nearby.

When he was finally out of sight, he laid back against the ground and freed himself.

These were very unbrotherly thoughts.

He had to get rid of them as soon as possible.

Before he acted on them. But it was probably already too late.


End file.
